


Silver Bullets in the Jukebox

by Skitz_phenom



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Banter, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related: Survival, F/M, First Time, Flirting, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Non-Explicit Sex, Temporary Character Death - Jack Harkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skitz_phenom/pseuds/Skitz_phenom
Summary: Jack Harkness walks into a bar...Wait... that's not quite it.This may be Jack's story, but it's really all about Ace.Because, having moved on from her time in the T.A.R.D.I.S., Ace is finally finding her place in the universe. She's got her motorbike/time hopper, and her trusty Dalek bat, and she's fully capable of balancing her charity work on Earth and her self-imposed duties as Time's Vigilante (in her local bit of time and space). There are moments though, when she needs a bit of a breather... a bit of time away from the duality of those roles, when she needs to let her wild side take over...Andthat'swhen Jack Harkness walks into a bar.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ace McShane
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: Rare Pairs Exchange 2020





	Silver Bullets in the Jukebox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine/gifts).



> I was so utterly thrilled to get this assignment as this pairing has been one of those 'rare pairs' of my heart that I've always wanted to explore and I loved your suggestions about Ace and the remnants of her time on the Planet of the Cheetah People. Being Doctor Who (& Torchwood) the time frame on this is purposefully vague. I don't think I could work out a working timeline if I had a T.A.R.D.I.S. of my own to do it with! This borrows a bit of background from the tie-in novels, and a bit from some audio books - but I'm only vaguely familiar with either. So, let's just say it's somewhere after Ace has stopped traveling with the Doctor, and sometime after Jack left post-Children of Earth.

“What’ll it be?”

Jack pulled his attention away from studying the rows and rows of bottles – a plethora of shapes, sizes and colors, filled with a ridiculously varied selection of alcohol and spirits from a myriad of different planets and guaranteed authentic, not produced by a replimat – and looked up at the bartender.

“Corvair whiskey?” he requested, willing to take a chance on the pricey spirit if it was genuine.

The bartender, a Vorovian, bobbed his tusked snout, his long, braided whiskers sent dancing with the motion. “Rocks or straight?”

“Rocks,” Jack replied, then just to be safe, added, “Two cubes of ice.”

Though he snorted as if to say, “I’m not an idiot,” the bartender nodded.

Jack offered him a playfully sheepish grin before he turned away to fix the drink.

When the brimming glass was set before him on the bartop, Jack liked to think that the smile had earned him the second Venusian purple cherry on the fanciful skewer decorating his drink. He caught the Vorovian’s nametag then, identifying the barman as ‘Bru’us’. He’d have flirted a bit more – maybe enough for a free refill, perhaps a bit more – but he recognized the tattoos on Bru’us’ forearms: swirling black ink against amber skin that marked him as pair-bonded. As a Vorovian, unless his bondmate was already on the premises and willing to share, Bru’us was off the market.

With a lift of the glass in salute, he took a slow sip, savoring the smokey, fruity warmth of it as it coated his tongue with just that little hint of fire.

“Starting a tab?”

After a long, surveying glance around the spacious, dimly lit bar, Jack saw enough that would keep his interest and he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Bru’us.” He handed over a galactic credit chit – fairly certain he’d remember to reload it with funds – and then settled back in his seat to enjoy his drink.

Over the rim of the glass, he returned to his perusal of the patrons, trying to decide if there was anything – or anyone – that might merit further investigation. _The Rusty Dalek_ had always been a popular bar in this quadrant of space. It was known galaxy-wide for its’ seemingly impossibly selection of alcohol from not only an endless array of planets, but all throughout time as well. (Jack had known quite a few Time Agents who’d made a tidy profit smuggling bottles as a side business).

He’d chosen a time period of ongoing stability in the area; his vortex manipulator might have had limited range in both time and distance (thanks to the Doctor’s meddling) but he had enough leeway to jump travel mostly as he pleased. He’d gone forward a couple of centuries, wanting simply to relax and enjoy the simplicity – and anonymity – of a night out.

There was a card game of some sort – a bastardized version of Earth poker if he wasn’t mistaken – going on in a far corner that looked to be quite intense, if the serious expressions on the various species circling the table was any indication. He filed that away as a possibility; to pad his credit chit if nothing else. Elsewhere, there were a few groups playing rounds of grav-pool, and still other loners perched at the gambling machines that were ubiquitous in these establishments. About half of the tables scattered throughout the place were occupied and a few industrious pairs were attempting to dance to the music – selected from an ultra-modern, antique-Earth-looking jukebox – being piped through hidden speakers. It was a soft, jazzy melody that clashed with the noise from the dozen or so holo-screens at the opposite end of the room displaying a variety of sporting events popular in this edge of the galaxy (a few of which, Jack didn’t recognize).

Across the u-shaped bar, Jack took notice of a woman seated not quite catty-corner from him. She was looking away from him, angled just enough that he could study her a moment. Her hair was loose around her face, framing slightly rounded cheeks and a square jaw, and the ruddy brown strands looked mussed, windblown, like she’d been running her fingers through it. There was something about her – the pert smile she was directing toward another patron, perhaps, or the glint in her eyes that almost made them seem to flash with aureus light – that Jack found striking. She was speaking to a Jacondan, a young male from the plumage, and if her demure eyelashes and demonstrative _lean_ were any indication, she was clearly on the pull.

He eyed her surreptitiously, sneaking glances now and then and then used the excuse of getting Bru’us’ attention for a refill to let one of those gazes linger. He assumed human, or a related branch of humanoids. They were the predominant species at this time in this part of the galaxy and he saw no physiological characteristics that suggested otherwise. But there was something just a bit off about her; something he’d call wild… feral, if pressed.

Jack returned his focus to his drink, figuring he should lay off the surveillance for a bit, and he plucked the little toothpick – shaped like a Dalek eyestalk – from his nearly empty cocktail and popped the first of the cherries in his mouth.

“Can you tie the stem in a knot with your tongue?”

Jack startled, and coughed, nearly choking on the sweet sphere of fruit. He managed to recover, if not smoothly, and chewed and swallowed and then turned to glare at…

Of course, it was her.

The grimace gave way to a grin. The sideward, toothy one that had been called charming more times than he could remember. He dropped the toothpick back into his glass and held out a hand. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

Her skin was warm, too warm, blood hot, when she wrapped her fingers around his. “Ace,” she told him simply.

Something about the name struck a chord with Jack, and he started to try to suss it out of a hundred lifetimes of memories, but the tightening grip of her hand distracted him, sending the elusive thought back into hiding. She was slow to pull her hand away, and her neatly manicured fingernails traced lightly over the thin skin of his inner wrist as she released him.

“Nice to meet you, Ace.”

“You too, Captain.” She eyed him from head to toe in a long, devouring once-over. “What’re you a Captain of, exactly?”

“Oh, this and that,” he answered evasively. He returned whole-body assessment. He never liked to guess a woman’s age – being wrong had gotten him killed more than once – but he’d put her in her mid-thirties when she’d been across the bar; closer, he thought she might be a bit older, but there was also an ageless, youthfulness about her. Her outfit was casual: dark denim trousers, low-heeled boots, a stylish, dove-grey silk blouse with the top button undone, and a chic, purple leather, racer jacket. Mature, striking and self-confident. An alluring combination. “What’s Ace short for?” he asked.

“Oh, this or that.” She took the barstool next to his, sitting and turning in toward the bar, but angled enough that they could talk. “You never answered my question.”

He blinked. _Oh_ , the cherries. Plucking the toothpick back up, he frowned at it. “Naturally, I can. I’d demonstrate if I could, but we’re out of luck. No stems.” He held the skewer and the stemless purple fruit up for her perusal.

Jack wasn’t entirely surprised when she leaned forward and opened her mouth around it, teasing the cherry off with her teeth. She crunched it with a sharp, quick snap of her jaw and Jack felt a frisson of something – anticipation, fear, arousal? All three? – run down his spine.

“So, what’s a –” he started.

“– Girl like me doing in a place like this?”

He laughed. “Actually, I was going to ask what a woman of your obviously discerning taste would like to drink.” A quick flick of his fingers signaled Bru’us over.

Though she rolled her eyes, Ace was grinning. “Well, then. I’ll take a double gin-and-tonic, extra lime. Sontaran limes if you’ve got them. And make it a good gin; one from Earth. Twentieth or twenty-first century, if you’ve got it.” A quick cant of her head signaled Jack. “On his tab.”

Bru’us looked for Jacks’ nod of confirmation – which he gave – and offered, “For that time period, of top shelf Earth gins, we’ve a Bombay Sapphire estate, a Spring Gin ladies edition, or a Monkey Forty-seven limited reserve. Only two bottles of the latter remain.”

“Sold on the latter, then,” Ace confirmed, never quite losing that smirk, or her eye contact with Jack.

“So, what’s your story, Ace?” Jack asked once they were alone again. “What _does_ bring a girl like you to a place like this?”

“I could ask you the same,” she deflected.

He wasn’t surprised that she was playing coy. “You can, and I’ll answer. But I asked first.”

Bru’us was back with the drink before Ace could reply, and she lifted her glass to tap it against his. “Cheers.”

“Sláinte.”

Jack nearly squirmed in his seat at the low noise of pleasure Ace made as she took a long pull from her tall, frosted glass. She didn’t even look slightly abashed when she lowered the drink and sighed, happily. “Oh, that is delicious.”

At his eyebrow quirk, she held it out to him. “Care to try?”

He saw no reason to refuse, and he wasn’t surprised when she turned the glass so that his mouth would touch the same spot on the rim that she’d used. Not taking his eyes from hers, he leaned in and let her tip the liquid into his mouth. She was careful about it, and he got a mouthful that he let linger a moment before swallowing it down.

“Good, right?” she asked, and immediately went in for another sip.

Jack was struck by the duality of Ace’s behavior. She knew how to flirt and tease and come on strong, but moments like that – though he’d seen only a handful so far, not enough to know for sure – suggested another, more innocent, lighthearted side to her.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Really good. Might have to switch from the Corvair whiskey.”

Ace frowned slightly. “I don’t think I know that one.” She reached for his glass, pausing just before her fingers touched. “May I?”

“By all means.” Though tempted to lift the glass to her lips himself, he refrained. He was enjoying following her lead.

“Not bad,” she judged, after handing his drink back. “But there’s something slightly cloying…something familiar…” she trailed off, like she was trying to place it.

“It’s the Corvair plums. Well, they’re like plums. They only use the fruit from the second harvest, when it’s sweeter, and they let half of them dry and ferment in the mash, while they press the other half.”

Ace snapped her fingers. “Prunes, that’s it. I’m tasting prunes.” She grinned, pleased to have figured it out. “How d’you know so much about Corvair whiskey?”

“Dated a distiller once,” Jack offered with a wink. “His family owned one of the oldest distilleries on Corvair Prime.”

“Get a lot of your practical knowledge that way, do you?”

Jack acknowledged that by tipping his glass to her then added, “You’d be surprised.”

The grin angled into a smirk. “I doubt that.”

“Oh, I imagine you might be. And you’re avoiding my question.”

She at least had the grace to duck her chin. “Yeah, maybe I am,” she admitted. “But, it’s a long and boring story and I think we both know we’re not here to chat.”

Jack slouched casually in his seat, leaning against the back rest, and spun the swiveled barstool fully toward her. She mirrored the pose, turning to face him. “We’re not, huh? What if I _am_ here to chat?”

“Well, if that’s all you’re looking for, then I can go back to chatting up that Jacondan.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. “He wasn’t interested in talk.”

Letting out a low hum, Jack looked past her, following her gesture. “Apparently he wasn’t interested in sticking around either.”

Ace turned sharply and swore when she spotted the empty place at the bar. She looked back to Jack, cheeks pinked, saying, “Funny that. I thought he was the type not to take ‘no’ for an ans…” She trailed off, eyes going wide. “Duck!”

Out of pure habit at following orders barked at him with that intonation, Jack ducked.

He felt a rush of air that passed over his head and heard a deep-throated croak of aggravation.

The Jacondan, naturally.

Jack pushed away from the bar, toppling the stool and stepped back, his hands spread. “Hey now. There’s no need for violence.”

“You interfere. The female belongs to me.” The Jacondan’s feathers were ruffled, puffed out to make him appear larger, and he held a wicked looking, curve-bladed knife in one hand.

“Oy, you toe rag.” Ace moved to stand next to Jack. “I certainly don’t belong to you or anyone else.”

“You would choose this… plucked, just-hatched pipling?” A dismissive gesture was made towards Jack, using the knife as emphasis.

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m going to take that as a compliment on my youthful looks,” he bandied back.

Ignoring him, Ace scoffed, “Yeah, I’ll choose whoever the hell I want, mate. And it sure as shite ain’t gonna be you.”

“I’m digging the working-class accent,” Jack murmured to her in a low aside. “South London?”

“West, actually. Ealing.”

He shrugged and gave her a sideward wink. “Close enough.”

Ace sniffed, derisive, “Say that in Perivale.”

“Stop that,” the Jacondan shouted, swiping the knife through the air. “Stop that prattling.” He pointed his empty hand at Ace, almost beseeching. “Come. You will go with me. We will drink.”

They both began to protest at the same time, and Ace elbowed him saying, “I can defend myself; you know.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Jack stated. “But, I’m the one he wants to put a hole in.” The elbow dug in further and Jack relented. “Fine, he’s yours to deal with.”

Around them, the bar buzzed with sounds of alarm and intrigue as a crowd gathered – half the voices eager for a fight – and a quick glance told him that Bru’us was already on a comm; with the local authorities he assumed.

“Look, mate,” Ace began, shouldering her way in front of Jack. “I’m _not_ going with you. Not to have a drink, not for anything else. I thought I made that position clear when I walked away. Obviously, you didn’t get the message, so let me repeat it: I’m not interested. Sorry, Hyrish, but you need to look elsewhere for company tonight.”

“You are not going to drink with me?” The Jacondan’s, Hyrish apparently, mouth turned down at the corners and his ruffled feathers started to smooth out. The arm holding the knife lowered.

Ace shook her head. “No. For the last time, _no_ , I am not.”

His next knife-first gesture towards Jack was much less energetic. “You choose the featherless one.” It wasn’t a question so much as an admission.

“I choose whoever the hell I want,” Ace confirmed.

Hyrish’s shoulders slumped further and his arms felt to his sides. The peaked crests at either side of his temple laid flat. “Very well.”

“Good,” Ace nodded, once. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

Entire frame drooping, Hyrish started to move away, kicking booted feet against the worn floorboards in a dejected shuffle.

Jack lowered his arms and breathed out a sigh. Just because he couldn’t be killed, didn’t mean he relished the idea of being stabbed. He spun to face the crowd, turning slowly and calling out, “Nothing to see here, folks. Sorry to say, but violence averted.”

Although a few people made their disappointment known vocally, most took it in stride – bar brawls weren’t all _that_ uncommon at _The Rusty Dalek_ – and went back to their drinks or cards or sports.

Turning back to Ace, a ready quip on his lips, Jack let out a gasp instead.

That puzzled him, at first, and it wasn’t until Hyrish shoved past him, knocking into him, that Jack realized the bastard had _stuck the knife_ in Jack’s ribs as he passed. It had been a subtle enough move that Jack hadn’t even felt it at first, too distracted by their shoulders colliding.

“What a bilge bag,” Ace was grumbling. She looked up at him with a ready, conspiratorial grin that fell away into a puzzled frown at seeing his expression.

“Sorry, Ace,” he hissed, and the pinch in his side coupled with the way he couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath, told him a lung had been punctured. He assumed air was seeping into his abdomen; possibly blood as well. “Think I’m going to have to… let you… down.”

“What is… Oh, bloody hell.” Ace had spotted the spreading blood stain. “Oy,” she shouted, waving to Bru’us. “Chuck us a towel, would you? And we need an ambulance, or whatever you call your emergency transport on this–”

“No,” Jack managed to interrupt, barking the word out. “No medics. I just need to go. A room. I’ve… got a…” He tried to tell her that he had a room booked at the hotel adjacent to the space port but couldn’t get the words out. There was considerably more damage that just a punctured lung. The blade had been long, and the way the wound trickled blood with every beat of his pulse definitely wasn’t good.

“You’re going to bleed out,” Ace stated matter-of-fact, though she pressed her hand and the bar towel Bru’us had tossed her tightly over the wound. “I can’t patch this. You need hospital.”

He really, really didn’t want to deal with the red tape of dying and then resurrecting in a clinic or hospital on some backwater planet. He also really didn’t have the time to explain all of that. “I’ll heal,” he hissed, breath reedy and thin. “Trust me.”

“But–”

“ _Trust_ me.”

Ace stared at him a moment, the brown eyes that locked on his seeming to flash gold again, just for an instant. “Okay,” she agreed, slowly. “Okay, I’ve got a place, just hang on. Can you hang on?”

Jack nodded. His vision was starting to grey at the edges, but he’d been through this enough times and in enough ways that he recognized this one was going to be slow, painful. The ache of the wound was beginning to spread, and pain radiated outward from the inch-long gash.

“Keep your hand there,” Ace directed, waiting until he pressed his own hand against his side, and then she got his other arm over her shoulders. “Just hang on to me. I’ve got you.”

She half-carried him out of the bar and into the damp, hazy night. Overhead, a pair of luminous half-moons hung in different quarters of the night sky, casting odd, warring shadows that muddied his perception. He managed to stay upright, and did his best to keep his legs moving, but he could feel his strength draining by the second. She guided him around the corner of the building and maneuvered his body until he found himself leaning on something solid. It wasn’t until she got him half-seated that he recognized it as a motorcycle. It had a sidecar also, but apparently Ace had decided that getting him into it would be too much trouble.

“Wait here,” she said firmly. “Can you do that? I just want to go back in to settle it with the bartender before the local coppers show up.”

Jack managed a weary nod, and his head stayed drooped at the end of it. “Yeah,” he huffed. Already there was pressure building in his chest and belly, and it made breathing a struggle. “Tip… leave a good…”

Ace let out a scoff that seemed half disbelief that he bothered with it and half affront that he’d assumed he needed to ask.

She let go of him, stayed long enough to ensure he wasn’t going to topple off the bike immediately, and then hurried away. Since it was easier to leave his head hanging, he swung it just enough that he could take a look at the motorcycle’s console. He wasn’t at all surprised by the presence of a chrono-dial and some other tech that far advanced the vehicle’s apparent age of origin. There was more to Ace than he’d expected, and if he weren’t dying, Jack might’ve appreciated that more.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he felt Ace’s hands on him again; probably no more than a few minutes, but he was starting to drift in and out of consciousness. She slid onto the bike in front of him and worked his arms around her waist.

“Just hang onto me, right?”

“Yeah,” he managed on a whistling exhale. He gripped as hard as he could – which wasn’t very – and waited for the motion of the bike.

The engine sputtered to life, and revved once, almost painfully loud.

There was motion… but it didn’t come from the bike itself; instead it was all around them. Everything blurred and shifted and spun, Jack’s stomach lurched. He closed his eyes, the kaleidoscope of colors and lights too much to process. It seemed to go on forever. His head felt heavy and he let his brow rest against Ace’s shoulder and focused on just holding tight.

“We’re here,” Ace announced, what felt like much too soon.

Had he drifted? Gone unconscious for a time?

Jack opened his eyes, half expecting to be in the midst of that whirling vortex. Instead, it looked like they were in the middle of a dimly lit… garage?

“Where’re we?”

She didn’t answer right away, too busy getting off the motorcycle and then helping him up to his feet. He tried to get his legs to cooperate, but she ended up mostly dragging him through an interior door and into a neatly kept mudroom with slate floors and dark wood paneling. She propped him on the wide bench of a hall tree and gathered some supplies from a tall cupboard.

“Where?” he repeated.

“My place,” Ace answered shortly.

There were other questions he wanted to ask – What planet? What time? Why take him home? – but he was losing the battle against the build-up of air and blood leaking into his abdomen and chest cavity, and they were compressing his lungs. He didn’t have long.

Ace maneuvered him into a bedroom just down a short hallway and eased him down onto a bed. “C’mon, Captain,” she urged as she got his legs up onto the neatly made duvet. She was gentle when she worked the greatcoat off his torso, and she started to unbutton his shirt, to expose the wound. He felt the cool splash of antiseptic liquid and cautious swipe of a cloth that tugged at the edges of the gaping slit. “Not bleeding much, now,” she said, false cheer in her voice as she lied to reassure him.

“S’rry,” he mumbled.

“Jack?” Her voice was urgent, but distant… fading. “Jack?”

He felt the press of her fingers at his throat and managed to open his eyes. His attempt at a grin faltered, and his thready puff of breath sprayed a mist of wetness – blood and saliva mixed – over his chin. “S’rry,” he slurred out again. “Back… soon.” The last word trailed off with his finale exhale.

Before that familiar blackness overtook him, as he floated toward it, he vaguely heard the muffled sharpness as the flat of her palm struck his cheek – though he could no longer feel the sensation of her slap – and her aggrieved swearing, “Oh, c’mon, Captain. Don’t you do this to me, you right bastard. I trusted you…”

The words drifted, faded and became silence.

~~~~~~~~~

“… Dammit, Professor, you said you’d answer.”

Jack sat up, gasping in air. That moment when he first filled his lungs and felt his heart thump in his chest was almost as bad as the actual dying.

“Oh, what the bloody hell?”

Shifting, and resettling with his back against the pillows, Jack opened his eyes reluctantly. Seated on an antique-looking wingback chair in the corner of the room, Ace had her legs tucked up under her and an odd sort of device – possibly a cell phone – in her hand. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, but didn’t appear shocked or upset; she looked angry.

“Uh, I told you I’d heal,” Jack explained, albeit sheepishly.

Ace snorted. “Yeah, you did. But you never mentioned the dying first part. That would’ve been good to know.”

“Sorry.”

Another derisive sniff followed his apology. “’ _Trust me’_ , he says,” She mocked his voice in quoting him. “And like the daft fool I am, I do. End up with a corpse in my guest room for my trouble.”

Jack made a show of patting himself down and then checking his own pulse. The bandage she’d not quite gotten to apply came away revealing some blood stains, but no sign of the wound. “Not a corpse any longer, far as I can tell.”

His attempt at levity didn’t go over well. “Yeah, well, I think you’ve got some talking to do before I decide to correct that situation.”

“Okay, okay.” Jack spread his hands, holding them palms out, placating a moment before letting them settle in his lap. “Look, I didn’t have time to explain it, what with the whole being stabbed by a jealous Jacondan who had his fragile pride and machismo challenged.”

“Feck his pride,” Ace grumbled, but she was at least looking a little less angered.

“Oh, I don’t disagree. I mean, we’re in the enlightened,”–he glanced around the room for context clues and spotted a digital clock and cell phone charge cord–“twenty-first century?” Ace nodded, so he went on. “And, even on Jaconda, that kind of misogynistic behavior would get him booted from the nest.”

She made a ‘get on with it’ gesture, flipping her hand.

“Anyway, I’ve got this uh, condition,” he said lightly. “I can’t die.”

“You can’t die,” Ace repeated.

“Nope. And, most of the time, that really disturbs people. Especially those in the medical field. And then they get all handsy, and not in the good way, and want to run tests and believe you me, I’ve had plenty of that in my overlong life.” He shrugged. “So, I prefer to avoid local authorities or medical types, if at all possible. Lessons learned from far too much firsthand experience.”

“How much firsthand experience are we talking about?”

Jack shrugged. “Honestly, I lost count after being buried alive in 27 A.D. and not being dug up until 1901.”

Though her brows rose, Ace didn’t scoff or call bollocks. She did let out a low whistle. “I’ve a friend who’d likely find you quite fascinating.”

“That Professor you were trying to call?” he nodded to the phone-like device she’d set down on a dresser.

“Yeah, he’s intrigued by all sorts of impossible things.”

Jack let out a quiet laugh. He’d been called impossible before. “I know the type.”

Ignoring that, Ace pressed on. “And you can travel in time,” she stated, like she was puzzling things out. “And space obviously. But you’re originally from Earth?”

He shook his head. “Not quite, on the last. An Earth colony in the 51st century. But I have spent a large part of my life on Earth and travelling through time and space.”

Ace threw her head back and muttered something that sounded like, “Why are all the men I meet time-travelers?” but couldn’t be certain because the words were directed at the ceiling and not to him. Something about her aggravation struck Jack as oddly familiar.

When she dropped her head again and looked at him, her expression was flat. “How do you manage it? Time travel I mean?”

Jack lifted his arm and tapped on the wrist cuff. “Vortex Manipulator. I used to work for the Time Agency.” He added the latter, assuming she’d be familiar.

She glared. “Oh, _that_ lot.”

Yeah, she was _definitely_ familiar. He wasn’t even going to mention _Torchwood_.

“But I don’t anymore. Not for quite a few lifetimes. Just, that’s how I got this.” He lifted his arm again, briefly. “What about you? We’re on twenty-first century Earth you said. But that drink we didn’t quite get to finish sharing at _The Rusty Dalek_ was in the twenty-third century. So, what gets you around in time and space?”

Before she could respond, the answer came to him. “It’s the bike, isn’t it? The motorcycle. I thought I saw a temporalchronometer on the instrument panel.”

She nodded. “Time hopper. Limited range, but it gets the job done.”

“I bet it does.”

Ace stared at him for a long while.

Jack waited, knowing this could go in any number of directions.

Finally, she uncurled from the chair and walked over to the bed. She sat down next to him, leaning back on one arm. “That enough chatting, do you think?”

Surprise sent his eyebrows up and his jaw down. “Uh, I gotta say, that’s not what I was expecting.”

“Adrenaline,” Ace explained, once again wearing that teasing, slanted smirk, and her other hand came to rest lightly on his knee. “You know. Life or death, gets the blood up.”

“Oh, I get that,” Jack agreed. “Just… I dunno. I figured you’d be put off by the whole ‘dying’ thing.”

Ace cocked a shoulder dismissively. “Eh, like you said: you’re alive now, aren’t you?”

“That I am,” Jack acknowledged, voice husking out low and rough.

“Well,” Ace said, her fingers tracing up the inside of his thigh, “I think that’s something we should take advantage of.”

Jack nodded, aiming for serious but far too caught up in that blissful mix of amusement and arousal to pull it off, “Oh, absolutely.” He covered her searching fingers with his own and drew them to their destination, pressing them over the bulge in his trousers.

One of Ace’s brows cocked, and the wicked grin thinned as it went wider. “Oh, brill…”

She was the one to lean in, to catch his mouth in a kiss that danced on the border of sweet and sensual. He pulled her close, got a hand in her hair and one on her hip, and sensual won out, her tongue teasing at his lips until he parted them. They fell back into the bed, bodies tangled, petting and stroking and kissing for a long while.

Jack felt a bit like a teenager, just making out, shirts untucked, and pants unzipped, hands slipping furtively beneath fabric while they necked. She giggled at his playfully triumphant, “Ah ha!” when he managed to unhook the clasp of her bra one-handed, and Ace was the first to pull away, unbuttoning her blouse and working it off in a rush, and then pushing his braces down his shoulders. His own shirt was a loss due to the blood stains, and he didn’t begrudge the brusque way that Ace tore it off him. It contrasted sharply with the overly careful way she traced the barely-there line of a scar that had been the knife wound. The rest of their clothing followed in a flurry of cotton and denim and silk, leaving them naked atop the sheets.

Ace laid back, settling languidly into the pillows while Jack kissed a path down her neck, between the valley of her breasts and stopped just below her belly button. He tipped his chin up, looking her in the eye. “May I?” he asked, partly teasing, partly ensuring he had her enthusiastic consent.

With a laugh, Ace put her hand on his forehead and pushed. “You’d damn well better.”

His answering chuckle was exhaled in a heated breath against the point of her hip, and then further down.

Though she writhed, whining and panting, heels kicking into the sheets, and made all the right sounds of pleasure, Jack sensed there was something she wasn’t getting. Another man, he knew, would likely be offended that she wasn’t getting off, that he didn’t have the skills necessary to satisfy her.

Another man wasn’t Jack Harkness.

“Go ahead,” he urged, lifting his head from the ‘v’ of her thighs. “ _Take_ what you need. I want you to.”

Ace’s bottom lip was caught in her teeth, a faint sheen of sweat glistened like dew on her skin and there was so little of the mahogany of her irises showing that her eyes were all pupil.

“Please,” Jack said, earnest and adamant.

That approbation seemed to free whatever restraints she’d imposed upon herself. Inhibition discarded, Ace took the lead, manhandling him into a position she wanted. After that, she wasn’t afraid to move his head where she needed and direct his mouth and his fingers in effort to chase her pleasure. She shuddered beneath him, once and then a second time, and after, even while he was panting and catching his breath, she rolled him over, threw a thigh over his hips and rode him until she cried out yet again.

On the verge himself, Jack’s own orgasm took him completely by surprise when her passioned cry turned into a sound akin to a roar, and her eyes changed entirely; gone was the warm cocoa brown, in its’ place a lurid, savage amber that gleamed with a primal light. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders like claws, and she bared her teeth and he bucked up into her, letting out his own faint shout, shock and pleasure too entwined to hold back.

“Yesss,” Ace’s voice rolled out in a throaty purr, and her thighs squeezed, and she rolled her hips in a way that had her growling and throwing her head back in ecstasy.

She fell against his chest then, collapsing on him and panting in quick little open-mouthed huffs. Jack hesitated only half a heartbeat before embracing her, one hand skimming low on her back the other coming to rest at the base of her neck. Beneath the splay of his fingers he felt her momentarily tense and then relax as his touch stayed gentle, comforting.

“I’ve _got_ to know your story now, Ace.” Jack said it softly, into curve of her brow where it was nestled against his chin. He tucked the long, sweat-damp strands of her hair behind an ear.

Breathing almost back to normal, she let out a little sigh and was silent a long while, then said softly, “Yeah, all right.”

Despite her agreement, Ace made him wait while she got up long enough fetch damp and dry towels, bottled water and a robe for him to put on. He cleaned himself up, gulped down almost the entire bottle and let the robe lay over the foot of the bed. Likewise, when she crawled back into the bed at his side, she stayed unashamedly naked and threw a leg over his thigh.

“Err,” she began, sheepishly. “Sorry about all that.” Once again, she seemed far younger than her years.

“Don’t apologize,” Jack said firmly. “Please, don’t. That was…” he searched for the right word. “Unexpected, maybe, but not at _all_ unpleasant.” He concluded with a self-satisfied grunt. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

It was enough to put her at ease, because she poked at his ribs. “No more unexpected than popping back up after dying?”

Jack laughed and squirmed. “Touché.”

Ace settled back against him, caught her fingers in hers. “So, the story. It starts off with a too-clever-for-her-own-good teenager who was working on her A levels in chemistry, getting scooped up by a time storm after blowing up her chemistry lab.”

That was certainly an impressive start. “What was this teenager doing that caused her to blow-up the chem lab?”

“She was attempting to extract nitroglycerine from gelignite.”

“Huh,” Jack huffed out a laugh. “Impressive,” he expressed it aloud this time.

“Yeah, well. I’m still not sure if I’d have succeeded if the time storm hadn’t happened.”

“So where did that take you?”

“Planet called Iceworld. That’s where I met the Professor. I was stuck there, working a dead-end job in a shop when he showed up. We had a bit of an adventure and then he let me tag along, offering to get me home.”

Jack felt his heart start to thump in his chest. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but her story – young woman, working in a shop, getting caught up in an adventure with an enigmatic stranger – was sounding very, _very_ familiar. “Home. Uh, that was Perivale, right?”

“Yeah,” Ace said, drawing the word out in a tone that gave her entire opinion on the place.

“This, uh, Professor of yours, he wasn’t a tall bloke, Northern accent, kind of big ears?”

“No,” Ace replied with a puzzled chuckle. “Why do you ask?”

“Not a skinny fellow with perpetual sex-hair and a penchant for wearing suits with trainers?”

She continued to laugh. “No. Why?”

Jack gave a soft chortle accompanied by a sigh of relief (or maybe disappointment). “No reason. Just that friend I mentioned earlier, who sounded similar to this Professor.” He patted her hand. “Anyway, keep going with your story.”

“I’m going to come back to that line of questioning,” she promised, “but I’ll humor you. It was actually back in Perivale that this,” she lifted a hand and circled a finger in the air above herself, “whole thing happened. Folks were going missing, young adults mostly. It turned out they were getting zapped–”

“Zapped?” Jack cut in, grinning. “Is that the scientific term.”

Ace poked him again. “It’s a good enough term as any. Actually, it was beings from a distant planet that had the ability to travel.” Her tone sobered, and the smile fell away. “They were a feline species, cheetah people. They were intrinsically tied to their planet, but their ferocity was destroying it, causing it to destroy itself. They had the ability to transport themselves to other worlds to hunt and bring their prey back home.”

“Prey?” Jack asked, though it was nearly a rhetorical question.

“Humans,” she confirmed. “Other species, I’d imagine. The thing was, being on this planet too long, it caused you to change. If the Cheetah-people didn’t hunt you down first, you… transformed. Became one of them.” She quieted, just breathing softly, but he could feel the tension in her body through every point of contact between them.

“How long were you there?” Again, he knew the answer, but asked it regardless.

“Long enough.”

He stroked a hand down the length of her forearm. Tentatively, he offered; “You seem pretty in control right now.”

She didn’t smile, but the darker cast to her eyes seemed to lighten. “I am. Most of the time, I don’t even think of it. In my life, my _real_ life, I manage a charity organization. It’s a good life, fulfilling. But, now and again, I can feel the beast inside me. I need to let it out.”

It made sense to Jack. He could understand the restless impulses that could overcome someone. “So, you hop on that bike of yours, head to someplace far from your home and time, and, if you’ll pardon the pun, ‘go on the prowl’ to satiate the need?”

Ace wrinkled her nose at the wordplay but nodded. “Yep.”

Curious, he asked, “Is it only sex? Or…” he wasn’t sure how to end that question.

Her chin dropped. “Depends. Sometimes. That’s certainly been easier lately. Before, I used to hop around the galaxy, through time and space, hunting down Daleks and bashing them with a baseball bat. That took care of the aggression. But, Daleks are pretty thin on the ground these days.”

“Daleks?” Jack bit back a shiver. “You went after Daleks with a baseball bat?”

“Familiar with the tin pepper pots, I take it?”

Jack nodded. “They were the thing that killed me the very first time.” He let out a wavery breath. “And you’re attacking them with a baseball bat?”

“Oh,” Ace frowned. “I’m sorry.” She touched his hand, lacing her fingers in his to give a reassuring squeeze. “If it makes you feel better, it’s a baseball bat that was modified by a Time Lord’s remote stellar manipulator.”

Jack’s heart lurched to a stop in his chest.

At least it felt that way. And when it kicked back to pumping again, he could feel it crashing against his breastbone.

“Wait… wait…wait…” he sputtered. “A _Time Lord’s_ remote stellar manipulator? Oh, for the love of …” he bit off a curse.

“Jack?” Ace’s brow furrowed.

“Oh, god. Of course, _of course_. Of all the bars in all the universe…” He put his hands over his face, groaning into them.

“What _are_ you on about?” He felt it when she moved, ignoring the slight pinch of skin peeling away from skin when Ace shifted. She must have sat up or propped herself on an elbow. She was close, still, but those points of contact between their bodies were gone, leaving a damp chill in their wake.

Through the muffle of his own fingers, Jack asked, “This Professor of yours, did he go by another name?”

“The Professor? Yeah, that was something only I called him. He hated it. To everyone else he was Doctor.”

Jack groaned again, loud and aggrieved.

“You know the Doctor?” She tugged Jack’s hands away from his face. He couldn’t quite read her expression, but whatever it was shifted to something knowing as realization dawned. “Oh, Gordon Bennett. He’s the reason you’re like this, isn’t he? I mean, it’s because of something that happened with him that you can’t die, right?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded firmly.

“Oh, bollocks.” She let out her own grumbling noise through gritted teeth and then flopped next to him on the bed. “I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” He thought a moment, rifling through his knowledge of the Doctor’s companion’s past and future. “Ace, what’s your real name?”

She hesitated, but eventually said, “Dorothy McShane.”

“Dorothy,” he echoed. “I like it. It’s got a bit of old-timey charm.”

“Oy,” she smacked him across the chest with the back of her hand.

“Oh! Wait.” He’d finally put two and two together. “Dorothy Gale McShane! You founded A Charitable Earth. We had a file on all of the work you’ve done back at Torchwood…”

Damn. He’d not wanted to let on.

Ace shook her head, laughing softly to herself. “Oh, bloody Torchwood. I should’ve known.”

“So, which one’s yours?” Jack asked, curious. “Your Doctor?” he clarified to Ace’s raised brow.

“Oh, uh, he was the seventh regeneration, I think.”

Jack thought about pictures he’d seen in the T.A.R.D.I.S. archives of prior incarnations. “Short, Scottish, fondness for question marks in his sartorial choices?”

Ace huffed out a startled laugh. “Yeah, that’s him, all right. Which was yours? Or maybe I should ask when?”

“Ninth and Tenth,” he answered, knowing his voice must’ve sounded a little wistful.

“Oh, you got a regeneration, huh?”

Remembering Doctor doubles, and a Time Lord-Human metacrisis, Jack quipped, “And then some.”

Silence fell, heavy around them. It hung there, stifling and cloying for many long minutes. When it finally got to be too much, Jack blurted, “Do you think that he set this…”

At the same time Ace said, “He wouldn’t have arranged…”

They both trailed off again.

Jack rolled his head to the side on the pillow and saw that Ace had done the same. Their reaction came out in tandem once again, “Nah.”

“Complete coincidence,” Jack stated firmly.

“Happy accident,” Ace rejoined.

“Right,” Jack agreed, nodding curtly like they were making a pact. Agreeing to a lie that would likely never be verified as the truth. “Can you still get a hold of him on that phone-thingy of yours?”

Though she turned away from him to look across the room at it, Ace made no move to get up. “I could try,” she said, “but, he doesn’t pick up all that often.”

“Forget it," Jack waved that away. He had something else on his mind. "You know, Ace. I could put _my_ number in there.” He suggested it casually, but the way her head shot up and a slow smile spread across her generous mouth he knew she could read between the lines.

“Yeah, I suppose you could,” she agreed, lightly, nonchalant.

“And maybe if you’re feeling the need for a little … uh, tension-release… you could give me a call.” Jack straightened his head then, looking up at the ceiling and away from the naked woman lying next to him. He didn’t want her thinking it was just sex he was after. And he had another option he wanted to offer before he could second guess himself. “Or maybe, if you want to hunt something down, er, or someone. To keep those instincts sharp. You already know you can’t kill me.” He let the implication hang in the air.

Her silence – after it went on for several minutes – concerned him, and he risked a glance in her direction. The disgust or shock he’d worried his suggestion might engender was nowhere in sight. Instead, she looked intrigued, even a little moved by the offer.

She opened her mouth like she wanted to protest, he could almost see the words ‘You don’t have to do that’ perched on her lips, but she bit down on them, pulled them back. Instead she made an offer of her own. “You ever come across any Dalek’s, you could let me know and I can meet you with my trust bat. Be a good time, wouldn’t it? You and me smashing Daleks together?”

“Ace, I would be delighted.”

She rolled back up to her side, splaying a hand low on his belly. "In the meantime, I am still feeling a little bit pent up."

"Oh, you are?" He turned and got an arm around her and hauled her body atop his. She shrieked and giggled. "Well, let's just see what we can do about that, shall we?"

Her throaty, teasing, "Wicked," got lost between the press of their lips.

The phone and strange men in silly outfits could wait. After all, they had plenty of time...

**Author's Note:**

> Title courtesy of Meatloaf's 'Midnight at the Lost and Found' because a song set in a rowdy bar seemed rather apropos for these two!


End file.
